


A Regular Sherlock Holmes

by SuburbanSun



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Girls' Night, Secrets, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: Midge intends to keep her comedy life hidden from everyone she knows, including her best friend.Imogene, however, has other plans.





	A Regular Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/gifts).



> This takes place at some amorphous time in the midpoint/latter half of season one. 
> 
> Thanks to redstapler for the beta. Happy Yuletide!

“So then she suggested _I_ make the Bundt cake-- and you know I’m not exactly known for my Bundt cakes,” says Imogene, pushing the pram just a little bit faster as she works herself up. “I’m known for my lemon bars, but _no_. Cheryl Simms couldn’t possibly have _two_ lemon desserts at her garden party, because then Lord knows the _world_ might come to a premature, citrusy end.”

“Mm,” Midge grunts in solidarity, distracted. She’s thinking about something she jotted down in her pink notebook earlier in the day, something about children acting as the kidnappers of their own parents-- _nah_ , she thinks, _that doesn’t exactly work._

Imogene huffs. “Cheryl Simms is going to eat two lemon desserts and she’s going to like it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Tilting her head to the side, Imogene brings her pram to a halt. Midge doesn’t realize it for a few more steps, but then stops, turning back with a frown.

“What, if you make it any farther into the park you’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Midge asks.

“Your head’s in the clouds lately, you know.”

Midge pastes on a smile. “I don’t know what you mean.” Imogene starts to walk again, and Midge follows her lead, but tentatively this time.

“No, I’m definitely right about this. You haven’t been all there all morning.” She gasps. “Is it Joel? Have you talked to him? Did he say something to you? He didn’t! He did. I’ll kill him.”

“No, no, I haven’t talked to him at all this week. Well, except when I dropped off Ethan. It’s nothing, Imogene, really.”

Imogene eyes her shrewdly, tapping one manicured finger against her chin. Then, her face breaks out into a grin. “I know what we need-- a girls’ night! Tonight! Oh, Midge, it’s been _ages_.”

Midge’s smile falters. Susie has her going up at the Gaslight at 10:45. But Imogene looks so earnest, and-- well, she’s not wrong. It _has_ been ages.

“Alright. Drinks at the place by Riverside-- 8 o’clock?” Imogene claps her hands with glee, and Midge mentally catalogues how long it will take her to get downtown after exactly two-and-a-half drinks later that night.

 

 

 

“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay, please,” says Midge as they sidle up to the bar.

“She most definitely will not!” Imogene interjects, hopping onto a barstool. “She’ll have a martini, three olives, and I will, too.” Then, to Midge: “This is a special occasion.”

Midge raises her eyebrows. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’re out on the town! No household responsibilities, no kids, no husbands--” Imogene’s face falls. “I’m sorry! Was that insensitive of me?”

“No! How many times do I have to tell you: I’m _fine_. Talk about husbands all you want. Yours, that lady’s,” she says, gesturing to an older woman sitting on the other end of the bar. “Whomever’s.”

Imogene looks relieved. The bartender sets their martinis in front of them, and Midge takes a sip of hers. It tastes good, and honestly, it _is_ nice to be out with Imogene for the first time in awhile. Why not let her guard down, just a little?

She does, and two hours later, she’s gasping down at the time on her watch.

“Oh, man, I hate to call it a night, but I’ve got to get home to the babysitter,” she says, tipping back her third martini glass and pulling a few bills from her wallet.

Imogene narrows her eyes. “But your parents are babysitting.”

“Well, yeah, but they’ve got to get to bed themselves. The older you get, the more sleep you need, apparently. I read that in some new medical journal.”

“You read medical journals?”

Midge shoulders her purse and slides off the barstool. “I read plenty of things. Look, this has been fun! Sorry to cut it so short.”

“But we haven’t even made our way through half the martini menu! There’s a lemon-tini I was saving for last! You know that’s my signature flavor!”

“Next time?” Midge shrugs apologetically as she backs away from the bar. “Gotta get home, sorry!” With one last look at Imogene’s frown, Midge slips out of the restaurant and onto the street, hailing a cab downtown as fast as she can.

 

 

 

It’s not her best set, but it’s not her worst. Midge is beginning to think she’s getting the hang of this comedy thing. She hits all the high points-- Joel, the kids, her parents, the way brassieres are like shackles and armor at the same time. It isn’t until the tenth minute of a ten minute set that she notices the blonde cackling in the back of the room, and her heart skips.  

When Midge steps off the stage, her first stop is Imogene’s table.

“What in the world are you doing here?” she hisses before she even sits down.

Imogene shrugs. “You know me-- you get a little vodka in me and I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes!” When Midge doesn’t respond, she giggles. “I _followed_ you, silly. From the bar. I always _did_ want the opportunity to tell a cab driver to ‘follow that car.’” She grins. “It was everything I hoped for and more.”

Midge can’t help but laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Then once I got here, for a second I wondered if maybe _Joel_ was performing again, and you’d come to hide in the back and watch him, like for some sort of sad catharsis or something. It was honestly a huge relief when you hopped up on that stage.” She stirs her coffee with a swizzle stick and leans forward conspiratorially. “I _knew_ something had you distracted-- I just had no idea it was something so _interesting_.”

One corner of Midge’s mouth quirks up. “Interesting?”

Imogene’s eyes widen. “Not interesting-- hilarious. Uproarious!” Midge barks a laugh, and Imogene continues, gesturing with her coffee stirrer. “You know, I always thought that between you and Joel, you were the funny one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Midge sits back in her chair, taps one fingertip against the the sticky tabletop. The incongruity of Imogene in this place, of the two halves of her life coming together, is making her feel a bit giddy.

“The bit about your mother, though-- that wasn’t true, was it?” Midge raises an eyebrow in response, and Imogene’s jaw drops. “No _way_. I’ll never look at Mrs. Weissman the same way again.”

“That’s--” Midge begins. She’s not sure how she wants the two parts of her life to converge--  _i_ _f_ she wants them to at all. “My parents don’t know about this. Neither does Joel. Or-- anybody, really. I’d prefer it if we could keep it between us.”

Imogene holds up three fingers. “I won’t tell a soul. Not even Archie, and we tell each other everything-- except when I buy a new dress at Macy’s-- he doesn’t need to know _absolutely_ everything, of course.”

Midge chuckles. “Thank you.” Imogene drains the rest of her coffee, then laughs into the cup, and Midge narrows her eyes. “What?”

“Oh! Just thinking about something you said up there.” She giggles. “I mean-- the thing about your ex-boyfriend being a _murderer_! You can’t make that stuff up!”

“Actually--” Midge leans forward. “I mean, no, of course, that’s all true, but-- you’d be surprised at how much writing goes into it, even for the true stuff. Different wording, different inflection, and all that. Pause for laughs, read the room.” She shrugs. “It’s kind of an art form.” Imogene’s hanging on her every word, and Midge feels a thrill of pride, akin to the zip of adrenaline she feels when she steps onstage at night. It feels good to share this part of herself with her best friend.

“Okay, that's it. I take it back. I won’t tell a soul-- on one condition.”

Midge furrows her brow. “What’s that?”

Imogene leans in with a grin. “Put me on the list for your next show. I’ll tell Archie I’ve got Junior League or something.”

Midge sits back and grins. “I can do that.”


End file.
